So Happy Together
by L 0 K I
Summary: sara's being mean to ian, again(when is she not!). the witchblade decides to teach her a little lesson, but what's the lesson? and will sara ever learn?
1. Part 1: Me and You and You and Me

Disclaimer:  not mine.  Nothing's mine.  I own nothing.  Well, I don't own reznor's '_nothing_'---though I wouldn't mind.  Could I just have a little piece?  That corner right there?  No.  nothing for me.  Darn it.

Spoilers:  none for season one, since that no longer happened *winkwink*.  Season two, no real big spoilers.  Danny, that wonderful being, is alive, but he doesn't make an appearance *pout*.  Takes place in that alternate universe where people are not quite right.  Oh, wait, that's where the show takes place.  Hmm...Somewhere around "Nailed" (because Ian looked so freaking cute in those braids *melts and sputters*!).  before the bit with the creepy undead guy...not Irons!  What wuz his name anyway??? (Daniel Germaine.  R.I.P. hahaha!).  Mr. Roger 'Devil' Daltrey was still applying his make-up for the production of this story.

I do believe that's all I have to say (all, you say?).  on with the story!  feedback!  Much appreciated!  Yayy!

Thanks.  ^_^

**Part One: So Happy Together**

**Chapter One:**

**Me and You and You and Me**

After a whirlwind day at work, Sara was actually looking forward to a relaxed evening of shooting pool with Jake.  The rookie wasn't always the best of company, a little too eager for her tastes he was, but he could always make her laugh (even if it was AT him).  More time on the job would fix him, for better or for worse.  Probably worse.

Oh boy, just what I need to make my day perfect, she sighed inwardly when she noticed an unmistakable black form leaning against the wall near her Buell Lightning X1.

"How do you always know where I'll be?"

Ian shrugged, giving her that 'I'm so dangerous I could snap your neck before you even realized I had moved' look.  Which was quickly followed by the 'trust me, Sara, I'm just a big, harmless puppy that needs love and an occasional belly-rub' look.  Sara watched it all with puzzlement, which directly fed into her frustration.  She did not know how to deal with this man, and thus he was shoved into her category for all potential threats.  And was approached as such.

"Special training, stalker-sense?  Naw, I bet you've been standing there for hours, waiting to see if I'd come down so you could look all mysterious and crap."

He stared at her for a very long moment, making her hackles rise.

"Yeah, well, I got a sixth sense, too, Nottingham.  And it warns me about you."

"Am I wearing a suit?" he whispered.

Not sure where he was leading, she raised one dark eyebrow.  "Um...no?"

"Then I am not your enemy, Sara."

_God, what kind of logic is that?!  "You got a point?  And if so, could you possibly get to it?  Otherwise, __I am going to be late for _my_ date."  __Woah__, Pez, where'd that come from?  You ain't going on a date......oh, wow, that is definitely anger I'm seeing.  __Nottingham__'s the jealous type, who would have guessed it?  Er, aside from being a stalker and all that---Wait a minute!  Did you just bait him?!!_

"You should be careful of that partner of yours, Sara.  He is not all that he claims to be."

Moving past that bit of advice and breaking free of her own twisting thoughts, she gasped, "How did you know I was seeing Jake tonight!?"  _I didn't even know I was seeing Jake until twenty minutes ago!  She had very unpleasant visions of Ian Nottingham eavesdropping on her phone conversations.  Oddly it wasn't Jake's phone call that kept playing through her mind, but one, or several from Vic.  _Oh boy_..._

But he wasn't exactly thinking about her cavorting and lengthy discussions with the ME (as interesting as they were), but the call she had placed three nights ago to some teledating service.  He wasn't quite sure what to make of that one.  

"You are a force to be reckoned with, Sara.  Even without the Witchblade.  But you are only one person still.  You need someone to watch your back."

"Oh, I've seen how you watch my back."

His head fell with that, like a string had snapped.  It wasn't embarrassment, but something entirely different.  Something she couldn't decipher, and quickly decided she didn't want to.

"Sara," Nottingham said with his head still slightly lowered and his eyes a bright, burning streak through his hair, "please do not be flippant."

Sara's open mouth snapped shut.  _Why do I feel like a naughty child all of a sudden?...And what right does have to chastise me?!  "Listen here, you little---ow-OW!"_

Ian watched in utter confusion as Sara began hopping up and down in what seemed to be pain.  Hand already resting on one of his many, many weapons, he glared around them, but could not find the source of her discomfort.  And then he noticed her rubbing frantically at her wrist, the witchblade swirling and glowing hotly.

"What!" Sara cried at her suddenly active bracelet, "I can't believe you're taking his side!"  She stopped dancing in place, but the Witchblade continued to blaze, casting angry red flashes across its wielder's face.

Easing his body back out of full-battle-mode, Ian watched her eyes empty as she turned focus inward to the blade's pulling.  Usually when it spoke to her, be it through voices or visions, she had an expression of surprise or disbelief.  This time her face was all indignant outrage.

"I will not!"

Silence.

Silence.

"No!"

A longer silence this time, in which Ian watched on, fascinated.  Seeing Sara become more and more spooked with each second that passed, he, not for the first time, wondered what horrors the blade was showing her.

"Forget it," she snapped finally, awareness swimming back to the surface.  Shaking her head as if trying to shake free, she started for her bike and the world she had built, delusion by delusion, o so carefully.  

The Witchblade clearly did not think the argument was over, for it sparked angrily, then morphed.  Sara, so caught up in her escape, did not hear it, but Ian did.  There was the sound of metal cutting through air, a sharp almost singing sound that rang in the ears long after it had vanished.  It took Ian a tenth of a second to realize what happened before his eyes fell down to his left wrist and saw the silver tendril wrapped securely around it.  Instantly he braced himself for pain, but there was none to be had.

Sara yelped in surprise, spun around and promptly dug her heels into the pavement to try and get free.  Pulled off balance by the abruptness and her own struggles, she hit the ground hard and took a stunned Ian with her.  Seeing as they were now connected at the wrist by the Witchblade.

"Ah!  Get-get-get off me," Sara squeaked, pushing and shoving at a disheveled Ian, who was doing his best not to touch his lady more than absolutely _necessary_.  It became increasingly difficult as she squirmed and twisted beneathe him.  Then she stopped unexpectedly, having finally noticed that when she moved her right hand, his left followed.

"Well," she breathed quietly, "This can't be good."  Then a somewhat coy look at him, "could you please move your knee?  Nnn-NOT like that!!"

Ian flushed bright red, nodded.  Surprise surprise, the lack of movement was actually beneficial to untangling their limbs.  Ian sat up on his knees and then managed his feet.  Sara was oddly quiet as he helped her up.  The fact that he helped her up and she had actually let him did not escape his notice, though everything directly after did.

"This is just great," she grumped, first trying to dig through her coat pocket with her right hand, then her left when she realized she was pulling Ian's gloved hand closer to her body.  He watched this all with interest and veiled eyes.

With a triumphant grunt, Sara wrestled the cel free of her pocket and hit Jake's number.  He answered on the third ring.

"Hello!" came the rookie's voice, happily chirping through the static.  Sara decided, once she had time, she would teach Jake the proper way to answer the phone.  These 'hellos' and 'whassups' weren't cutting it.

"Hey Jake, you left yet?"

"On my way as we speak.  Something up?"

"Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna make it."  And here comes the 'why do you wanna go and rain on my parade' voice.  She wondered about Jake sometimes.

(Jake's pouting actually audible, even watered down through the phone lines) "Any reason in particular, Pez?"

"I think I'm going to stay in tonight---"

"You got a man there or something your not telling me about?"

"No!" she snapped just a little too quickly.

"Listen, if you don't feel like the bar scene I can pick up a video and come over?"

Oh, he had the grace to make it sound like a request.  Sara noticed that Nottingham was making very low growling noises.  He didn't seem to be directing them at her, but to the phone she was now tentatively holding up to her ear.  With his dark curls loose and hanging down around his eyes, she felt her body trying to slip into the defensive.  She didn't know what his problem was with Jake, and she wasn't sure she really wanted to.  Giving him a patented Pezzini glare, she turned in hopes of having a little privacy.  Or tried to.  Being connected at the wrist kind of made the movement pointless.  Sara finally straight-armed him, forcing him as far away as possible.

"Did you just growl at me?" Jake's voice came back.

"No!  I mean...thanks for the offer, rookie, but I kinda just want to be alone right now."  _Completely._

"Well, me and Danny decided that you, my friend, are spending way too much time alone.  If you don't wanna come out and play then I guess I'll just have to come over there and cheer you up," he sighed, pouring the weariness on thick.

"God, Jake!  I didn't know you were such a drama queen!"  Was that Nottingham sniggering?  Sara glanced over at him, but the face he gave her back was innocent and empty as a dolls.

"Ah-ah.  I know what you're trying to do; and I don't distract that easily!"

_If that comment had a pair of perky breasts, I bet you would.  Outwardly she said, "Jake, really, I just want to relax and maybe get some sleep---"_

"Oh, lookie at that!  Why, I do believe that is the perfect place for me to turn around..."

_Why this night, of all nights?  It wasn't Jake's words that broke her down, but the image of her and Jake sitting on the couch with Nottingham, a big, black, unhappy presence between them.  At least the bar was public.  "Okay, okay, don't do anything hasty.  I'll meet you there."_

"Good thing, 'cuz I think I'm doing something illegal...damn it!"  Sirens could be heard in the background.  "I know I shouldn't have turned here!  Hey, Pez, if you get there before me...wait."  Jake hung up, leaving Sara with a smile that almost made her forget she was effectively hand-cuffed to her stalker.

"New York's finest," she shook her head and in the motion caught sight of Nottingham.  How was she going to pull this off?  She knew Jake would recognize him as the only surviving member of the Black Dragons.  Not to mention he was an assassin and undoubtedly had a hand in several other activities of questionable repute.

"You should let me take care of him for you," Ian offered quietly.

Sara looked up from her reverie to see if he meant what she thought he meant.  The animosity burning a slow, cold fire in his eyes said that he did.  

She just shook her head and started back for her apartment, dragging Ian behind her.

_TBC_...


	2. No Matter How They Toss the Dice, It Has...

*waves*  hi Lady Kate!  :-D  Don't worry about the email, I didn't really check it over most of the summer, but with school only a few weeks away I should be getting back onto _some_ schedule.  As for similarities between ian and ares...well, there are a few.  They're both quite dangerous, and have a tendency to obsess on one woman...but ian is---gods, what is he?  He's not as dominating.  He's not exactly subservient this go-round, but he doesn't take a lot of initiative, at least when it comes to his relationship with Sara.  He does walk that same 'is he foe/is he friend' line.  And his battle skills are inhuman.  I can go on for hours, you know, but I think some people are wanting to get on with the story.  Sorry!  I'll shut up now!  *sheepish smile*  (btw, anybody else familiar with Xena that wants to add to the list of similarities/contrasts---feel free.  I know there are more, but I don't want to make this note longer than the chapter ;-).

hmm, this little story was well-received.  And here I thought it was one of the stupidest things I had ever put to paper (aside from LTCFAB).  it gives me all kinds of warm-fuzzies to know that some people like it, and even want me to continue O_O so here's the next chapter, dedicated to each and every person that reviewed and made it impossible for me not to keep going.  Thanks!  ^_^

**Part One: So Happy Together**

**Chapter Two:**

**No Matter How They Toss the Dice, It Has to Be**

Once in her apartment, surrounded by her things, Sara laid out her plan for Ian, in all its clever and strategic glory.  "I'm going to the bar just long enough to appease Jake, then we're going to figure out how to get out of this mess."

"I can take care of him for you," Ian repeated, a glint in his dark eyes that said he already knew how, too.

"No.  Now come along, we have to find some way to disguise you so Jake doesn't get suspicious_..."  I'll never live this down_.

Ian followed her around her apartment.  Mainly because the Witchblade still held him to her every move and he couldn't do much else.  He did pout the entire time.  He just didn't understand why she wouldn't let him kill Detective McCartey.  He knew she found him to be quite a nuisance.  He was not worthy of the Wielder.  And besides, he would betray her.  Ian glanced up in time to catch Sara staring at him, her green eyes seeming to measure out some idea.

"We could cut your hair," she provided absently.

Ian's free hand flew almost protectively to his ebony-brown mane.  "No!" he bit off quickly before the thought had any chance to solidify into action.  Though, truth be told, If Sara became insistent...he wouldn't stop her.

Sara shook her head and pulled him towards her bedroom.  "You're right, I'd kind of need both hands for that."  She glanced back at him, flashing one of her rare smiles that actually penetrated the usual shield that was her eyes.  "If I had known I was going to have company tonight I would have straightened the place up some."  She seemed to think that was funny, and Ian didn't ask why.  Maybe it was funny; maybe it was just her.  He had noticed that she had a tendency to laugh at things that others simply did not understand.  Himself included.

Getting to her knees was a delicate dance she was likely never to forget.  Too swift or far and she risked dragging him down with her, too slow and she had to fight for balance.  Once right, Sara dug through her closet with one hand, ignoring the black presence of Ian practically towering over her.  

After shoving aside a few plain boxes Sara emerged with her prize...what Ian could only guess was a yellowing mop sans handle.  She looked it over appreciatively, coaxing some of the tangles free with her fingers. 

"I went to a Halloween dance at school when I was thirteen.  It was a costume party, and my first date, but I got so upset because nobody recognized who I was."  She turned eyes that were just a little distant up to him, presenting him with the wig in a gesture that was oddly reminiscent of countless marriage proposals.

Unsure of what his response was supposed to be, Ian just stared at her.

"I was Jeannie," she continued as if it explained everything.  "From 'I Dream of Jeannie'...?"

Ian just shrugged, having no clue what it was she was speaking about.

"Come on now!  It's a freakin' classic!"

Ian shook his head.

"Oh god, what is wrong with you people?!" She pushed to her feet with a huff, practically falling into him with the swiftness of her agitation.  Ian grasped her elbow to keep her steady but she wrenched her arm free, backing up that step or two that the Witchblade allowed.  Distance, distance...

Without further comment she reached up and slapped the blonde wig on his head.  Of course, it didn't quite sit right on top of his curls, and the escaped tresses kind of defeated the purpose, but she wasn't through yet.

Pulling the wig off, she said, "You need to do something with your hair.  Put it up maybe."

Ian really wasn't looking forward to putting that blonde thing on his head, but it was what Sara wanted.  Sigh.  He still thought killing Detective McCartey would solve the problem.  Solve all kinds of problems.

Pulling his hair back was a chore, seeing as he needed two hands.  After several failed attempts, Sara took pity and sat him on the edge of her not-so-neat bed.  It still took some maneuvering, but she quickly figured out how to use both her hands.  Mostly.

Combing her fingers through his hair to loosen the curls up some seemed to excite the Witchblade, and when one deep brown coil fell over her wrist the sentient bracelet gave out a happy little pulse.  Sara paused to stare at the red swirling eye incredulously.  _I can't believe you're turned on by touching his hair!  You are a twisted little piece of work!_

Ian, at the moment, would have given out his own happy little pulse if he could.  Her strong fingers in his hair being, perhaps, the most sexual stimulation he had ever received in his entire life.  Sara hummed on obliviously, had she been able to see his face she might have rethought the casualness with which she touched him.

"Rubber band," she snapped her fingers near his ear, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin.  He sheepishly handed the rubber band up to her, knowing it was over and half-thankful for it.  He had swiftly been on a road to great and consuming embarrassment.

Sara stepped around him, twisting her wrist within the Witchblade to a more comfortable angle.  Tilting his head up with a finger crooked under his chin, she then took the wig from his hand and set it delicately over his hair.  A few adjustments and she just wasn't satisfied.  She grabbed a baseball cap and still didn't like the results, but decided there wasn't much else to do.

She pulled him up, left the bedroom again with him trailing behind like a kicked puppy.  He knew that he liked the touch of her hands.  He knew that he did not like the scratchy wig and baseball cap.  They were so not his style.  But for one the other must be.  He would wear them and be content with it all for that too short moment.

Sunglasses.  She tossed them back and he caught them expertly in one hand, mostly because he only had one hand with which to do so.  Ian put the nondescript glasses on without complaint.  Certainly she knew it was dark outside and just didn't care.  It was of no consequence to his heightened vision anyway.

"I wish..." Sara turned just in time to witness Ian stumble over the coffee table.  She moved into his path and braced him against her until he was steady.  As soon as she was sure of his feet she snatched the glasses back.  "The glasses can wait.  Now, as I was saying...I wish there was something we could do about your clothes."  She fingered the edge of his black shirt, while Ian tried not to breathe too much.  "You got a shirt on under this one?"

He nodded.

"Take this one off then."  Sara struggled not to think too hard about the fact that she was ordering Ian Nottingham to disrobe, even partially, for her.  It was too odd.

"What about the coat?" he asked, surprising himself with his own voice.  He had spoke so little since he had stepped into her private world.  

She pursed her lips at this new dilemma, then said, "I could cut it off..."  At the absolute horror that filled his eyes, she continued, "Right then, I guess the clothes can stay.  Sheesh, it's not like you can't buy a hundred more with all that money that Iron's left you."  It was at that time Sara realized that Ian was somewhat of a mother's dream:  tall, handsome, old-fashioned, protective, and most importantly---LOADED.  _Hmm, good thing I don't know who my real mother is, she thought, casting the idea aside._

Stepping back to survey her work, Sara realized there wasn't much else she could do with him.  Except...

"Take off the gloves."

Ian stared at her.

"Come on, Nottingham!  I swear I won't try to swipe a fingerprint or something!"

He continued to stare at her, then very finely removed the first.  The second took more of a struggle seeing as the Witchblade was wrapped around it.  And Sara's own hand kept getting in the way.  His fingers brushed hers once or thrice, and each time he paused, took a breath.  Finally, he had a small bundle of black leather that he promptly shoved into a coat pocket, and two very pale hands.  His ring joined the gloves.

Sara felt the tension in him running through her wrist, and up, up until it coiled into her spine and awakened an answering tension.  She didn't know what his problem was, but whatever it was---she chose to ignore it and fetched her phone once again.

¤ ¤ ¤

The Buell being out of the question, for obvious reasons, forced Sara to call a cab.  She didn't like cabs.  She didn't like placing her life in the hands of someone she did not know.  Even if it was their job.  Especially because it was their job.  

Upon heading out Sara had finally realized that it was dark and that the sunglasses would be a little suspicious.  She looked at them, at Nottingham, then slowly held them out.  He took them wordlessly and slipped them on, much to Sara's disappointment.  She had hoped he would refuse, or at least point out the absurdity.  She was beginning to have very weird thoughts about how much influence she had over him, and how much he willingly gave her.

Ian opened the door for her, which she did not like at all.  But it seemed to set him more at ease so she let it go.  All she needed was a twitchy assassin on her heels.

"You ever thought of dying your hair blonde, Nottingham?" she asked teasingly as she tried to slide into the cab.  It was no easy task, but she managed to get all the way across the seat without jerking on his hand too much.  

Ian closed the door, then turned to her with his big black sunglasses.  "No, Sara, I have not."  She didn't need to see his eyes to know that he was not happy.

"That's probably best," she replied, "It's so not your colour."  She gave the driver directions and the cab slowly pulled away.  Once the vehicle was in motion she turned back to Ian and said, "Okay, tonight you're my date.  First date, so don't get all touchy-feely.  Um...some rules...don't be all creepy, don't kill Jake, DO stare down any jerks that try to hit on me, don't kill Jake for _trying_ to hit on me, don't kill Jake, don't kill Jake, don't kill Jake.  Oh!  And don't kill anybody else.  Are we clear?"

"Can I...incapacitate him?"

"NO!  God, this is going to be a long night."

Ian couldn't agree more, especially since she took all the fun out of seeing Detective McCartey.  Her fingers brushed his again, causing relaxing muscles to tense-up with unexpected sensation.  Once upon a time that didn't exist he had told her that they could be inseparable, now that it was a reality...he felt as if he were drowning, and finally able to draw breath---all at once.  It wasn't exactly pleasant.  It made him feel helpless and small, but also elated.

"So...what colour is mine," he asked hesitantly.

Sara glanced at him sideways to see if he was joking, but the face he presented her was shockingly sincere.  "Well...I dunno."  She tried to picture him in all sorts of colours and styles, but it all flew by in a flash, slipping through her grasp and fading right back into the colour he always wore.  And then there was one, distinct and very solid in her head.  And my god, did he look marvelous!

"White," she said, "You'd look good in white."

...

Was he blushing?  She couldn't help the grin that curved over her mouth.  She had made Nottingham blush...and it felt good.  Too good.  She snapped her head around with a frown.  _Don't start that.  Don't go there.  Don't you dare go there!  Sara stared at the scenery as it passed by, let it fill her mind with nothing.  Nothing was so much safer._

The rest of the trip passed in silence.  Ian recognized the bar as the one Sara always went to.  But his attention was quickly riveted back to her as she struggled in attempt to reach her right pocket with her left hand.  Ian knew this was where she kept her wallet.  The driver looked on with confusion, and just a little impatience.

Ian reached into his own pocket, "I can get it, Sar---"

"No!  ME!  I'll pay!" making it clear she would fight him if he so much as pulled a dollar out of his pocket.  She glared at him as if he had been going for a gun.  He didn't understand why his movement to pay had excited such a reaction from her, but he didn't question it.  Having heard his lady's wishes, he took them to heart and relaxed his hand away from his wallet.

"Damn it!  Damn it!  Damn it!"  Sara squirmed in her seat.  _Stupid car.__  Stupid jeans.  Stupid Witchblade!_

"Perhaps if we got out?" Ian offered quietly.

Sara glared at him a moment, then waved her left hand, pantomiming that he proceed with said suggestion.  Ian slowly slid out under the driver's careful observance, then turned to help her.  She sat within the car and stared at him, trying to convey something with her eyes that he just couldn't understand.  With a quiet sigh she allowed him to take her hand, pulling it free as soon as she was standing.  It was definitely easier to get to her money when vertical.  

Paying the driver, she put her wallet in her coat pocket and turned to regard her companion.  She wrapped her fingers around his, pulled both their sleeves down to cover the Witchblade as much as possible, then took a deep breath.

"Let's get this over with."

_TBC..._


	3. The Only One for Me is You, and You for ...

Roguegal17 sent some very convincing comments for the Ian/Ares argument.  Some of them I hadn't even thought of, and probably never would have on my own!  They are:

_One) Have a penchant for black clothing and looking damn sexy in it. _

_Two) Obsessively in love with dark haired women who are pretty handy with a sword. _

_Three) Must contend with blond sidekicks who they feel are most annoying and probably wouldn't mind them being dead. _

_Four) Question of genetics and family. i.e Ares in question as Xena's father & Ian in question of being Sara's brother (or such). _

_Five) Fighting and Violence as an art form and a must._

_Six) IMHO, Some of the few men who look equally handsome with a beard and without (i.e The Ian clone and Ares as Cupid) _

_Seven) Seriously screwed up Father issues. _

_Eight) Spend half their time being a pain in the ass and the other half, "helping" in their own special way. _

_Nine) Appearing and disappearing mysteriously, though our heroine's spidey sense usually gives them away._

_Ten) Voyueristic tendencies_

i completely agree with every one of them, and personally with number six.  i don't really like facial hair, but i think both Ares and Ian look good with or without it.  and the one about the blonde sidekick... ;-D  no offense to any Jake-sympathizers out there (and Gabrielle, coincidently), but i have a tendency to be a basher.  it's all in fun, so nobody get worked up or anything!  
    
    Thanks, roguegal, for sharing! ^_^

**Part One: So Happy Together**

**Chapter Three:**

**The Only One for Me is You, and You for Me**

Inside, Ian did not need to wait for his eyes to adjust through the sunglasses to know that Jake had been waiting for them.

"Hey!  Pez!"

At Jake's greeting Sara felt Ian's fingers tighten almost painfully around hers.  She elbowed him in the side and whispered sotto voce, "Behave."

"Hey, Jake, wasn't sure I'd be seeing you tonight.  At least not here.  You get a ticket?"

"Naw.  I just flashed my badge and all was forgiven...you gonna introduce me to your friend?"  Jake squinted at the man holding Sara's hand and decided it was only the darkness of the bar that made him look slightly familiar.  He couldn't remember any of Sara's friends, excluding his wonderful self, having blonde hair.  Certainly not that length.  He'd remember that.

"Nnn—Nathaniel," Sara sputtered, kicking herself for not having thought this far ahead.  What was her plan?  She didn't have one.  Wasn't that the way she did everything?  Hey, she mentally snapped back at herself.  _I have enough to think about!  I don't need you ragging me, too!  And in a softer, quieter thought she wondered, _should I be worried_?_

Jake raised an eyebrow at that and said, "Okaayy.  Well, nice to meet you, Nnn—Nathaniel.  The name's Jake," then the oblivious rookie did the unthinkable---and offered his hand.

'Nathaniel' growled.

_Oh boy!  "Um, okay, can you excuse us a moment, Jake?  I need to get a drink, preferably alcoholic.  Come along, Nathaniel."_

"No problem," Jake said to Sara's back and the blonde she was dragging away none too gently.  Somehow he just knew that the man was glaring at him through those dark, obscuring sunglasses.  It made his skin crawl.

"Wow, Nottingham, could you possibly be anymore subtle?  Maybe next time you could actually show a little teeth?" _ It's like having a wolf on a leash.  A very territorial wolf.  Sara situated herself onto a stool and braced herself against the bar as Ian followed suit._

"He's going to hurt you," was the extent of his argument.  

"Yeah, well, I'm a big girl.  I can handle Jake."

"I could take care of him for you," Ian suggested innocently.

"No."

Silence, then, "Please?"

"No."

"I could do it real quick and painless.  It would be an act of mercy."

"No," she replied automatically.  "NoNoNoNo."

"I could---"

"Nottingham, I said no!  You are not going to kill Jake, for any reason."  The bartender set a cold beer on the counter before her.  She picked it up in her one free hand and held it out to Ian.  He thoughtlessly twisted off the top, then busied himself with glaring at the bartender for his obvious rudeness.  It would NOT go unpunished.

"You want a beer?"

"No.  Thank You.  I do not drink alcohol."

"Your loss," she said, tipping the bottle back and letting the blessed liquid pour down her throat.  _After a night like this, I couldn't not drink._

"Hey, is everything okay," Jake cut in, making an appearance.

'Nathaniel's' growl cut-off abruptly as Sara squeezed his fingers together, hard.

"Fine, everything's fine," Sara said quickly, "Isn't that right, Nathaniel?"

"You mean besides the pain in my hand?"  At Sara's glare Ian conceded.  "Yes, great, everything is fine, De-tec-tive McCartey."

"You been talking about me to your boyfriend, Pez," Jake inquired innocently after Ian practically bit his title off.

"You have no idea, rookie."  Sara cringed slightly at his choice of words.  An action she promptly gave up in favour of eyeing Nottingham warily as he leaned across the bar to whisper to the bartender.  Her attention shifted to the bartender who then set about making some mixed beverage she did not recognize.

"I thought you said you didn't drink," she whispered to him.  It must have looked coy as hell to Jake, but it wasn't like she cared.

Ian turned to her, his 'blonde hair' scratching against her cheek.  "I don't," he whispered back.

"What did you say to the bartender?"

"A halber emez iz a gantzer lign."

"That's what you said?" Sara asked, sarcastic, confused, and incredulous, all at the same time.

"More or less."

She just shook her head.  Then watched as the bartender carried the newly made drink across the crowded floor and set it down at a table occupied by a man, early 20s, in a, Sara squinted, 'boys lie' t-shirt.  For a moment she actually wondered if Ian swung that way, as well as hers...but it was then that Ian turned conversationally to Jake and said, "I do believe that gentleman over there is trying to get your attention, Detective McCartey."

Sure enough, when Jake turned the man raised his newly acquired drink and winked.  Jake sputtered, that was the only way to describe the noises he was making.  The sputtering turned into full-out choking as the man got up and started towards their little eclectic group.  Sara watched the whole scene unfold with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Uh, guys, I...uh *_gulp* I'll be right back," with that Jake quickly sprinted in the direction of the bathroom and away from the approaching suitor._

"You are evil," was all Sara could get out before the man reached them, confusion on his face as he looked just in time to catch Jake's blonde head disappear.

Stepping in suavely, Ian nodded towards Jake's hasty exit and said, "He asks that you follow him."  With that Ian raised his eyebrow conspiringly.

'boys lie' grinned at him, "Thanks man!"

Ian grinned back, "No problem."

Sara observed it all in stunned silence.  Stared at Ian as he turned back to her, expression empty with a soft edge of satisfaction to his lips.  Since there was no longer a need to hide who he was, he very definitely removed the sunglasses and hooked them through his coat pocket.

"Feel better now?"

"A little."

"Well, you do have a sense of humour, after all.  Though I'm not sure Jake would agree."  _I'm not sure I agree..._

"I distracted Detective McCartey so that we could slip away unnoticed."

"Yeah, I definitely think Jake is distracted."  She took a drink, set her beer down.  Then started laughing.  "And I thought I was never going to live this night down!  Jake won't want to speak of it now!  EVER!"

"That was the idea," he smiled at her and she smiled back.

"No, it wasn't.  You were just being vindictive."

"Me?  Surely not."

She took one look at the exaggerated innocence in his brown eyes and nearly fell out of her stool backwards.  Ian braced her against his side to keep her upright, smiling almost dreamily as her laughter fell around him in peals.

"Oh, stop it-stop it!  You are _so_ bad!"  As soon as she heard the words spill out of her mouth, with a slightly flirtatious lilt even, she froze.

"Whoa.  We are not talking like I think we're talking..."

"Like friends, you mean?"

"Well...yes."

"Am I wearing a suit, Sara?"

"Um..no?"  _What is this guy's obsession with suits!?  It's weird!_

"If you ever see me in a suit then I am truly your enemy."

"Uh, okay.  I guess I'll remember that for future reference."  _You freak._

"I am not your enemy, Sara."

"Uh-huh."

"You can trust me."

"Uh-huh."  _Not buying swampland today_...

"I want us to be friends, Sara.  Companions."

Why did she think he meant something else by that last word?  Shaking her head, she slid off the stool, paid for her drink and glanced back at him.  "Listen, Nottingham, you don't wear any suits and I'll think about what you're saying.  Deal?"

"Deal," he said.

She held her hand out automatically to shake on it, then waved it away when she remembered they were still bound together by the Witchblade.

"We are leaving now," he asked, trying not to sound eager.

"Yeah.  As soon as I..."

"...Yes?"

She glanced at him, then away, her voice very small when it came.  "I need to use the---uh..."

Ian stared at her in puzzlement, then it dawned on him.  "Oh---OH!"

"Yeah," she sighed.

Ian tried not to think about what that meant.

"Are you happy now," Sara hissed, interrupting Ian in his non-thinking and causing him to blink back to reality.  Sara glared down at the quiet bracelet.  He didn't know if it answered, only that a moment later she spun around and started pulling him through the crowd.

"A stalker-escort to the toilet.  This is so humiliating!"

Ian was quick to agree, especially since he, now, had to go.

_TBC..._


	4. So Happy Together!

Blast from the past!  Bet you thought I abandoned this fic.  Er, I did.  But not forever, obviously.  In fact, I'm back with a second part, and quite possibly a third if the second is well received.  Yep, I'm aware that I've got all kinds of fics and projects to work on, but this one demanded to come out and play again.  So, please read and review! ^_^

**Part One: So Happy Together**

**Chapter Four:**

**So Happy Together!**

Standing under the streetlamps in front of her building, Sara and Ian both stared down at the Witchblade.  To outside appearances they almost seemed to be holding hands.  They weren't.

"Okay," Sara whispered almost soothingly to the sentient weapon.  "You can let go now.  I've learned my lesson."

The Witchblade flashed red once.  That was it.

"Oh come on," Sara whined.

Silence.

"Please?"

More flashing.  Ian was mesmerized by how the colours danced across the planes of Sara's face.  Even as she pouted.

"Fine," Sara snapped, before addressing him with narrow, not-so-happy eyes.  Her voice, when it came again, was somewhat snippy.  "I'm sorry—ow!  Ow!  Damn it!" she cried, rubbing at her wrist.  "Nottingham!..."  She took a deep breath and tried again.  "Ian, I apol—apologize for my cruel and insensitive behaviour."

She paused to glare back down at the Witchblade.  "What the hell else do you want from me?"

Ian watched wearily as her eyes widened and she stood utterly still for a full moment.  She then looked at him, and it wasn't a friendly look.  It wasn't an angry look either.  She cautiously stepped forward, stared at their bound wrists, then awkwardly put one arm around him in a sort of half-hug.

"I'm sorry.  You've helped me.  Thanks bunches."  With that she stepped back and watched quietly as the Witchblade unfurled from his wrist, seemingly satisfied.

"Right.  See you later, Nottingham."

"Isn't it customary to kiss now," he said quickly, not sure if he was ready to be free of her company yet.  He flinched when he realized what he had said.

"What?  You think that was a date?!  That wasn't a date!  Oh my god, that was a date!"  Sara walked away, waving her arms at her side and saying, "no no no..."  Then she walked back, looked at him, walked away, walked back, grabbed the blonde wig he was wearing and jerked him down into a kiss.  Drawing back, she said 'no' again, then practically ran.

Leaving a startled Ian standing all alone under the streetlamps, in a lop-sided blonde wig.

**_.End Part One._**

Very short chapter, I know, but it's only the conclusion of this part.  I'm already writing on the second part, in fact, I am posting the first chapter of it along with this one.  As a sort of good faith promise, and apology for the wait between this chapter and the last.  The second should appeal to you shippers out there, seeing as it is more SPIN-centric.  A touch of romance, a touch of silly humour, even a spot of the old ultraviolence! ^.~

I actually kind of like what I have written so far, which is really odd for me.  But I'm biased, so I won't know if I've got anything worth continuing unless you reviewers let me know otherwise.  Yes, that was a shameless plea for reviews.  They seem to feed the muse, and the happy muse keeps me happy.

Thanks for all those who have reviewed and will review.  You guys make writing that much more special to me!  ^_^


	5. Part 2: Call Me Beside You If You Dare

Must say, haven't seen beyond "Hierophant", and I barely remember that one as it is.  I know very little about what happens later, and most of that I learned by accident.  Although I want to see, the pre-mature canceling of the series has saddened me to the point that I haven't worked too hard on acquiring the rest of the episodes.  Not to mention I haven't seen reruns anywhere.  So, Ian in this series is based on first season and up until "Nailed" of the second season.  You might even see a blending of the two from time to time, though unintentional.

I promise, things will pick up as the story progresses. ^_^

Reviews are much appreciated!  Thanks!

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Five: **

**Call Me Beside You if You Dare**

_Out of a blinding desert dust storm / Tell an oasis out of air / Sound of a tambourine inviting / Call me beside you if you dare_

~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton (Abridged)

¤ ¤ ¤

How much make-up should one wear on a blind date?  Sara surveyed her creation in the bathroom mirror and wrinkled her nose.  She had applied just a touch of mascara and a smear of bright red lipstick to compliment her dress.  Yes, dress.  A crimson number that did not leave much to the imagination.  Sara was not, nor had she ever really been, particularly self-conscious of her body, but staring at the new woman before her made her wonder if she were being too aggressive for a first date.  _Okay, going for attainable, but not easy.  Sexy, but not trashy.  Feminine, but strong.  God, how I hate walking this line._

Sara picked up the lipstick canister again.  Raised it.  Lowered it.  Raised it, almost bringing it to her already blood-red mouth, then threw it in one harsh line back to the counter.  Enough was enough.  It wasn't like her to be so indecisive.  _Take one little date with a complete stranger and turn my already spinning world _on its ear.  Of course, this whole night was going to be nothing like her.  She had made a conscious decision to try and crawl out of her shell and into the bright, blinding sun.  And she was going to enjoy that blindness, even if it killed her.

Besides, she had already started the ball rolling when she called that twenty-four hour dating service.  She still wasn't sure what had _possessed her to do such a lame thing, but she couldn't stop it now.  Well, she could, but that would just be cowardly.  A little dinner at a cozy restaurant, what could it hurt?  Sara tried not to think too hard about that one._

_I don't even know why I bother.  Sara glanced down to the tranquil Witchblade and numbly realized it matched her ensemble.  Just a pretty red stone.  You're not a part of this, she thought at it fervently.  _I am meeting someone tonight who doesn't give a shit about you.  Who doesn't want me or hate me because of you.  If he likes me, great.  But you know what?  Even if he doesn't that, too, will be great.  Because he will hate me for me_._

Her cel rang.

"What," she snapped out, not liking how she had jumped at the intrusion.  If it was Jake then she would just have to apologize later.  If it was Danny, she wouldn't need to.

There wasn't even hesitation, just a neutrally pleasant, "Hello, Sara."

"Why, hello, Nottingham," she replied mockingly sweet, then. "What do you want?"

"You..."

"Wha---"

"...to meet me.  I have some information that may be relevant to the Witchblade, and you as its Wielder."

"Sorry, no can do.  Sara, the Wielder, cannot be reached tonight.  Just me, Sara, the mild-mannered detective."

"Then I appeal to Sara, the mild-mannered detective.  Though I think 'mild' is stretching it a bit."

She chose to ignore that, still not comfortable with his recent attempts at flirting with her.  Though she had to admit, if only to herself, that he was improving.  _Practice makes perfect and all that jazz_.  "Sorry, Nottingham, that Sara is on her way out, too."

"Drinking with Detective McCarty again?  Keep it up, Ms. Pezzini, and you will become a card-carrying alcoholic."

"If you must know, Mr. Nottingham, I have a date tonight."  And she could say it now and it not be a lie.  It felt so much better to be honest.

"A date?" he asked quietly, and she could almost hear the slight puzzled frown in his voice.  She was actually surprised he didn't already know about it.  He seemed to pride himself on knowing everything ahead of her.

"Well, yeah.  It isn't such an uncommon thing, you know.  Hey Nottingham, maybe you should give it a try sometime.  I bet a good old-fashioned roll in the hay would do you a world of good."  _No, I don't_.

"A...roll in the hay?" Ian asked, not understanding why rolling in any type of grass would be beneficial to him.

"Uh, yeah, it's a euphemism for sex," Sara raised an eyebrow to the phone, knowing that he couldn't see it.  Then again, maybe he can, she thought in a not so unusual burst of paranoia.  In an almost nonchalant manner Sara went about her apartment, checking all the windows and doors.

Just being near Sara was teaching Ian so many new and varied things, things that his _father had never thought important enough for him to know.  He would never have guessed that sex and rolling in hay would reach the same conclusion.  Then he began to wonder if hay was a preference of his Lady's, and if he should look into purchasing some in order to please her...pleasing her was, after all, what he desired most..._

"Nottingham?  Nottingham!  I know you're there; I can hear you breathing," which she recognized as an oddity.  The man could very well sneak up on her while walking over egg-shells.

Ian heard Sara, but she wasn't quite making sense yet.  He was just beginning to understand and appreciate the many uses of hay.  Allergies be damned!

"Anyway, Nottingham, I'm leaving.  Call me later and I'll tell you all about my date."  The sentence was shaped innocently as a request, but it came out more like a threat.  With that she hung up before he could respond, immediately feeling a twinge of guilt about it.  _Must be cracking_...

Sara picked up the dress' matching purse and glared at it as if it were one of the most offensive things in the universe.  But it was necessary since the cut and shape of the dress made pockets nothing more than wishful thinking.  The cel went into the purse, nestled nicely in between her wallet and her gun.

¤ ¤ ¤

As with any particularly good restaurant there was an excessive line of well-dressed people waiting to get in, most of them holding small contraptions or huddling around someone with one.  Sara sighed and hoped that Jack, for that was the name of her mystery date, was already seated and she wouldn't be left to join the constantly shifting throng.

Pushing her way through the crowd of couples and families took away some of her growing annoyance, and filled her with a small sliver of the same exultation she got from her bike, distance from herself and the world even as she hurtled through it.  She even accepted the crowd's pushing back as part of the sensation, though she liked it less and less.  It wasn't the Witchblade, but her own over-active imagination that showed her how easy it would be to rip the gun from her purse and brandish it like a madwoman until everyone cleared her a nice little path.  Though the Witchblade was not exactly averse to the idea.  With a toss of her head and a deep filling breath, Sara finally emerged from the sea of pressing bodies as if breaking the surface of water.

The Hostess glanced at her with a nearly perfect impression of tedium, smoothed a well-manicured hand over the register, and barked out, "Name.  Party."

Sara stared at her and tried to recall Jack's last name.  The Hostess stared at her and said, "Name.  Party."

"Hmm...Whitechappel.  Jack Whitechappel!" Sara cried triumphantly.  The Hostess glanced at her lingeringly before turning back to her list of names.

Someone grasped her elbow.  Sara spun around, instantly reaching for empty air where her weapon would normally be.  The little man before her was apologizing profusely, practically bowing.  She relaxed her hand away from her imaginary gun, and realized it was perhaps the third time that day where her first response was to draw.  It did not bode well.

She watched the man's mouth move and realized he was speaking.

"What?"

"I said, if you will follow me, Madame, your table is this way..."

Regarding him with a raised eyebrow, Sara supposed he had heard her words to the Hostess and recognized the name.  She nodded, watching the relieved light fill his beady blue eyes.

He turned and she followed, wove where he wove, and did not fail to notice the veiled hostility in some of those she left near the door.  She was happy her date was thoughtful enough to arrive early and get them a table.  Okay, last second...Sara quickly checked her person to make sure all was in order, adjusted her purse strap, and ran her fingers through her hair.  She was nervous and she hated it.  Her escort stopped before a small two-seater nestled in a not-so-crowded corner.  She quickly glanced past him, trying to catch a glimpse of her mystery date before he saw her, though she knew he had the advantage.

Unfortunately, her date was flipping through the menu and all she could see were two strong hands, and a ring...

"Nottingham," she gasped, feeling all the tension of meeting her stranger-date unfurl, and a new one take its place.  Ian had the grace to look sheepish as he folded the menu on the table and stood up.  And glowed.  Sara just about swayed on her heels at the picture he presented her.  White, tailor-made linen, with just an edge of black and gold trim, his dark hair carefully combed back into a stylish twist.  She stared at him and realized with a dull shock...that she had been correct in the colour she had chosen for him.  He did look marvelous!

_TBC_...


	6. You'll Never Breathe Until You Drown

Thanks to all those who have reviewed!  I wasn't sure if anybody even remembered this story, it had been so long.  My apologies again for that.  I promise that I will finish this part in a more timely manner.  ^_^

Here's the next chapter, please let me know what you think.

Thanks!

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Six:**

**You'll Never Breathe Until You Drown**

_I am a storyteller's daughter / You are a king without a crown / I am the instrument of laughter / You'll never breathe until you drown_

~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

¤ ¤ ¤

"Good Evening, Sara," Ian spoke softly, moving around the table to pull out her chair.  Also noticing that she was staring at him as if struck.  He wondered, not for the first time, if the white was a little too much.  "You are looking..." Ian got his first unobstructed view and felt his eyes go wide before he could stop them.  Oh, he had seen her in much less, but never this close.  The thought had wriggled into his head that she hadn't dressed for him, but it was small and easily ignored.

The dress was crimson to the shade of blood, with not much length either way.  He found himself staring at her exposed legs before the vision even translated in his mind, and up, higher, where the skin met skirt.  Short, he thought, and distantly realized he had spoken aloud.

"What!  I'll have you know that, short or not, I can still kick your---"

Ian swiftly snapped to at the indignation in her voice.  "No!  No.  It was..." his eyes were fighting the pull of gravity, falling to her waist, rising to her face, falling to her hips, rising to her breasts—_NOT an improvement!  Must think..._

Sara watched the conflict on his face in confusion, leaned forward and peered impatiently into his dazed brown eyes.  "It was...?"

Having not received more than a stunned stare for her answer, Sara tightened her hand on the purse strap and set her mouth.  "Fine.  This was a cute little joke, Nottingham.  I suppose you are Jack?"

Ian shook his head wordlessly, then blinked.  "You're date was called away at the last minute."

"Uh-huh."  Sara eyed him suspiciously.  He stared back at her innocently.

"He is not worthy of you."

"Not your choice, Nottingham."

He bowed his head in admission.

They stood in their own little silence a moment, as the other occupants of the restaurant continued around them.  It broke only when Sara sighed.  "Great.  I'm outta here."  She turned to go, but Nottingham's voice stopped her.

"You have not eaten today, Sara."

"How do you..." she let her first question go, knowing full well she wouldn't get any kind of answer she really wanted.  "Are you trying to tempt me with food, Nottingham?"

"No, I was asking if you would like to share dinner with me...since you are already here?"

"You set this up!"

"If I am not mistaken, a kiss at the end of the first date signifies that a second date is desirable," Ian replied debatingly, not exactly certain if he was saying something that was better left unsaid.  Especially as Sara's face reddened noticeably.

She had no excuse for that kiss, so she shoved it to the back of her mind and crossed her arms.  "It wasn't a date.  And this isn't either," she said, plopping down into the chair before he could make any more movements to help her.  "I'm just hungry."  The look she then presented him said he better not try to say otherwise.

Ian nodded obediently and retreated back to his side of the table.

"Nice suit," she glanced at him meaningfully.  "Are you trying to tell me something?"

He froze, his hands still on the table.  "This is...a good suit," he said lamely.

"As opposed to an evil one?"

...

"Yes?"

"Glad we got that cleared up."  _Remind me again why I'm doing this.  Her stomach growled, so loud she knew that Ian had to have heard it.  She didn't look at him, picked up her menu and pretended it was vastly fascinating.  Her eyes flashed back up when his hand moved beckoningly.  A second later the little man that had escorted her in appeared._

"Are you ready to order an appetizer?"

Sara looked suspiciously to Ian, then back.  She wasn't used to the service here being that quick.  "Can I get the stuffed mushrooms without crab?"

The little man and Ian said simultaneously, "No."  "Yes."

The little man, Jerry, as his nametag read, paused, then nodded.  "Yes, Madame."

"Um, okay..." she gave 'Jerry' plenty of time to change his mind again.  The longer she stared at him, the more nervous he seemed to become.  She said, her eyes flicking to the assassin at her table, "Stuffed mushrooms.  No crab."

"I'll have the calamari," Ian added on the heels of her own order.

"Can I get you a drink while you wait, Madame?"

Sara was eager for Jerry to leave.  His nervousness was making her nervous.  And she was constructing a very disturbing theory as to why he was so interested in their party in particular.

"Daiquiri, strawberry."

"Would that be virgin?"

Sara glanced at him as if he were stupid.  "No, that would not be virgin."  Nottingham wasn't exactly smiling, but the lift to his mouth made her think he was seriously thinking about it.

"I'll be right back with your drink.  Sir, would you like a refill?"

Ian shook his head, causing Sara to notice what she could only guess was some kind of tea.  It looked too golden amber to be a soft drink.  She wondered in one of those odd moments if he drank any kind of soda.

"So," she said conversationally, her eyes scanning the menu before her though she wasn't really seeing anything at all.  "What did you say to our waiter?"

"..."

"He is taking his job very seriously.  I was just wondering what it is you said to him."

"I do not understand what you are asking, Sara."

"Sure you don't.  You know, threatening someone is considered harassment and is punishable by the law in the state of---What's so funny?"

"Then do you harass me, Sara?"

"...I think it's the other way around, buddy."

"But you threaten me?"

"Well...you deserve it!"

"And that makes it acceptable within the eyes of the law?  Or is an exception drawn because you are a detective?  Or because you believe that I am...less than honourable?"

Sara did not like the point he was making.  She glared at him and wanted to tell him to shut up, but couldn't bring herself to do it.  He was questioning her, admitting that he knew she had faults like everyone else.  Wasn't that what she wanted?  _Oh sure, as long as he leaves me on my pedestal.  "You've made your point," she spoke grudgingly._

His small smile flattened instantly.  "I've offended you.  That was not my intent.  I—"

She put up a hand to stop further words.  "You spoke the truth.  There is no need to apologize for that."

Jerry returned with her drink and both their appetizers before more could be said.  She and Ian both watched him quietly until he was well out of hearing range.  She was certain something had to have been said or done to get things to move so quickly, but truthfully, her impatience was actually thankful.

"I don't know how you can eat that," she remarked off-handedly, stabbing a mushroom with her fork.

Ian looked curiously at his own fork.  "Calamari?"

"Squid," Sara scrunched up her nose, forgetting for a moment that she was an adult.

"It's not so bad.  It was one of father's favourite foods."

Sara's fork scratched against her plate, she looked across the table at him, but Ian had no words to describe the emotion in her eyes.  He didn't think it was just one.

"Have you tried it," he asked, just for the sake of speaking.

"Once, when I was little," _and dad was still alive_, though she couldn't say that to him.  It would have been far too cruel.  She did not pretend to understand the relationship he had with Kenneth Irons.  She only knew that she had taken something important away from him.

"You should try it again, Sara.  I think you would like it now."

"Yeah, right."

He presented her with a piece on the end of his fork, the morsel small and misleading.

She froze at that.  It was a stirring and intimate thing to feed someone.  A moment better reserved for new and adventurous lovers.  Did he realize what he was doing?  Glancing past the offered food, she quickly concluded that no, he did not.  The eyes he presented her were sincere and uncertain, and innocent of the implications that went along with such a small but monumental act.

The calamari hung there between them, like bait, and she stared at it, wondering if she should allow herself to be reeled in.  She knew he wasn't aware.  She just wasn't sure if that made it safe.  But...

She leaned forward and tentatively parted her lips, closing them over the soft golden bite.  Her attention was all on him, ready to bolt if he so much as took it in ways that her mind had already gone.  As a result, the movement lasted much longer than it should have.  Sitting back, she absently chewed, watching him all the while.

Flavor finally registered with Sara's taste buds, and she gagged, instantly bending forward and covering her mouth with her hands.  She snatched up her napkin and tried to discreetly spit the half-chewed 'appetizer' into it.  "I told you I didn't like calamari!" she gasped, grabbing her complimentary glass of water and taking several large swallows.

Ian was half up and out of his chair, his dark eyes wide and concerned.  But upon hearing her not so delicate bark he settled back down, and even smiled.  No, he grinned.

"I will try to remember that," he said, as if his remembering would do any good.  It wasn't as if she planned on eating with him again.  Ever.

Sara glared at his softly amused face as she very definitely folded the napkin up in her hands and set it aside.  Looking around for a fresh one, she leaned over, far--to Ian's guilty delight--and snagged one off a nearby table.  Luckily nobody was sitting at it.

"I could have called our waiter to bring you a new one."  _'Our', an adjective, referring to two or more people, usually possessive.__  Our waiter.  Sara and I.  His mind was quickly thrust into chaos with that little, rather ridiculous thought._

"I just bet you could have," she sniped.

Ian bowed his head for the hundredth time that night, an automatic response to the tone in her voice.  Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to completely flatten out the small smile he had achieved.

He continued to smile as he started to pick up another slice of calamari, but his fork froze on the down-stroke.  He stared at the slender, naked prongs that had just touched her lips, and there was a faint smudge of crimson.  Lipstick.

His acute awareness of the significance of the situation, though delayed, still unnerved her.  Sara pretended not to notice, pretended not to watch.

Ian finally looked up, but she didn't.  He lowered his fork and pressed it slowly through the small piece of seafood, and just as slowly lifted it to his mouth.  He stared at her, but her careful green eyes were on the straw of her daiquiri.  She grasped it between her index finger and thumb and guided it to her lips.

_TBC..._


	7. You'll Never Want to Leave Me

Thanks everybody for the reviews, they mean quite a lot to me!  I hope you enjoy this next chapter, too. :-)  We take a little break from the humour, but I promise chapter eight will pick it up again.  Along with a little romantic angst! ^_~

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Seven:**

**You'll Never Want to Leave Me**

_Sing you to sleep like Scheherezade_

_Wake your curiosity_

_Trap you with tales like Scheherezade_

_You'll never want to leave me___

~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

¤ ¤ ¤

Another silence descended, one full of a tension that had been wearing down at the steady pace of their conversation.  It was back full force, and not by anything he had said, but something she had done.  Ian had been innocent, and that meant she should have been the one to know better.

_I did know better.  But she heard the implications of such a statement in her own head, and quickly turned the words around.  __I didn't know better because it was a meaningless act.  I didn't mean anything by it, so he shouldn't be making something out of it._

She chose to ignore that she had made something out of it long before he did.  She didn't want to admit to the fact that she had seen the 'dangerous nature' of such an action and still carried through with it.

Ian, too, seemed lost in his own thoughts, though she couldn't tell if he were pleased or nervous.  His face was neutral, eyes dull with deliberation.  He placed his fork down beside his plate and looked at her.

"Do you know the myth of Persephone?"

Sara's eyes narrowed.  Suspicious of where this might lead, she said, "Yeah, sure.  She was a goddess, and the daughter of Demeter and Zeus.  She was kidnapped by the god of the underworld and he forced her to become his queen.  Her mother was so distraught that all life on earth became cold and barren, creating the first winter."

"There's a little more to it than that," he chided affectionately.

"Fine then, if I missed so much why don't you tell the story?"

"Alright, I will," he answered softly, sitting back and folding his hands in his lap.

She realized suddenly that he had just led her into asking him.  She blinked.   _Looks like I just got maneuvered.  __Nottingham__, you sly dog.  She was definitely amused, and annoyed, and it wasn't the first time he had inspired such conflicting emotions in her._

"When Persephone was with her mother, spring walked the earth.  Their happiness and joy in each other flooded the world with love and hope.  And all was well.

"But Hades was God of Death and King of the Underworld, and his kingdom was beyond the gentle reach of spring.  It happened one day that he saw Persephone, in all her warmth and glory, and he instantly fell in love with her.  He went to his brother, the King of Gods, and asked him to bless the union, and Zeus did so because he thought it was a good match.  After gaining his brother's approval, Hades turned his attention back to the young Goddess and devised a plan to get to her without running afoul of her mother and her constant companions."

He took a drink of his tea, then continued, "There was a meadow on the edge of a dark wood.  Persephone and her attendants were picking flowers there one morning, laughing and chatting pleasantly.  Now, Persephone had been content with walking alongside her friends, taking in the sweet scent of spring and the warmth of the sun on her back.  But something had caught her eye on the edge of the meadow, where the dark shadow of the woods fell.  Nestled off by itself was a cluster of yellow Narcissus, delicate and glowing with an almost gold sheen.

"Drawing closer to them she became entranced by their beauty, and wanted nothing more than to take one or two, maybe one for her hair, and one as a token of love for her mother---"

"She's stupid," Sara said suddenly, not liking how she was getting used to, and even comfortable, listening to the rhythm of his voice.  "As soon as I saw that Narcissus I would have got the hell out of there.  They are _always bad news in these stories."_

He smiled at her interruption, and she was thinking that she maybe should have kept her mouth shut and let him get lost in his own words.  He gave her a look, not one of heat or lust or even wariness, but a slow glance that clearly said that he thought _she was cute_.  That was...new.

"You are correct.  Narcissus often appear as harbingers of death.  Not to mention their narcotic properties can be detrimental to one's health, if not handled correctly.  Though," at this point he had the grace to look away, his eyelashes coming down in one long sweep, "in some middle eastern cultures the essential oil is considered a great aphrodisiac."

She wanted to frown at him.  She really did.  She just couldn't seem to do it.  His attempt at flirting with her was so categorically odd, and so _perfectly __Nottingham, that it was __almost endearing.  She placed emphasis on 'almost' and so was able to get away with the traitorous thought with only a minimum of self-chastisement._

"Well, isn't that interesting," she smiled back innocently.  "So she picked the Narcissus?"

"She picked the Narcissus, and instantly the ground split open at her feet.  And from the dark depths of the underworld, Hades came, in a black chariot driven by six black horses, dressed in gleaming black armor."

"I'm sensing a theme here."  _And also your fascination with this story._

He continued on with a nod, "By the time Persephone realized she was in danger, it was too late.  Hades swept up his bride and carried her away in a matter of seconds, leaving her oblivious maids still laughing and playing in the warm morning meadow."

"I find that hard to believe.  Wouldn't they hear that black chariot, or those six black horses?"

"He was a god; they heard only what he wanted them to hear," he answered her.

She wondered if Nottingham was getting annoyed with her interruptions, and if he would even let her know if he was.  With a smirk she picked up her fork and waved him on, as if he needed direction.  "Please, continue."

"He took her to his kingdom and made her his queen."

"He raped her."

"Maybe.  Each story tells it differently.  In some she is the distraught maiden raped, and in others she is the innocent seduced."

"Let me guess, in your version she's 'seduced'."

He smiled, "I will leave that part up to your imagination.  Anyway, Demeter learned of her beloved daughter's disappearance, and immediately began her search for her.  She walked the world of man and heaven, but could not find her.  And with each mile she went her steps got heavier with sorrow; her shoulders grew weaker with despair, and the pain etched age into her face.

"The world around her mourned with her.  The flowers and trees wilted and died, the cold came, sweeping in rain and snow, and still she continued.

"Finally, the King of the Gods took notice and realized that Demeter would drown all existence in her grief if something was not done.  So he told the Goddess of her daughter's whereabouts, but it wasn't enough.  She demanded that Persephone be returned to her.  She said, while Persephone remained hidden away within the underworld, so would the seeds never break the surface of the earth.

"But Zeus had made a promise to his brother, and he thought all women fickle by nature, be they mortal or goddess.  And so he sent the withered Demeter invitations and honors and treasures of all kinds, offering them to her if she would just relent.  But Demeter truly loved her daughter and was not swayed by such materialistic things.

"The Father of the Gods then went to his brother and implored him to return his new Queen to the womb that gave her life.  But Hades refused to give Persephone up, for he, too, truly loved her.

"Then, to appease both Demeter and Hades, he offered a compromise.  Persephone would be allowed to return to her mother if, and only if, she had not tasted of any food or drink produced in the underworld.  But soon after her arrival Persephone had eaten the seeds of a pomegranate, one that Hades had personally given her."

Sara frowned, getting into the story more than she wanted to admit.  "So she ate some seeds.  Forcing her to stay just because of that doesn't seem fair."

"There is a significance to the pomegranate, and the fact that Hades offered it to her."

"Oh?"  _Figures_.

"Only one tree grew in the underworld, and that was the pomegranate, the apple of life and love.  When Hades offered it to Persephone, he was in fact offering her his love.  When Persephone accepted the pomegranate from him, she accepted him as her husband.  And that became an irrevocable bond."

"So he tricked her?"

"Maybe.  Or maybe she knew exactly what she was doing when she ate the seeds of the apple of love."  He seemed very serene in not knowing either way.

Put that way, she saw what he meant about it being more of a seduction than a rape.  Though she wouldn't tell him that.

_Remind me to never, ever accept food from __Nottingham__.  He has way too much time on his hands._

It took her a minute to realize what she had just thought.

Her face instantly flamed red.  She coughed into her napkin, trying to hide the very real physical reactions she was having to her thoughts.  _He started this whole conversation after I took a bite of his calamari..._

_Trust him to think of it in such terms!  Oh!  He's so infuriating!  Sara continued to cough into her napkin, set it down and picked up her water.  She took several more gulps and glared at her 'companion' over the rim of the glass._

He was back to playing the innocent.  "Demeter would not accept that she had lost her daughter completely, and Hades would not give her back.  So Persephone herself stepped up with a solution.  She had eaten six seeds of the pomegranate, so she would stay six months of the year in the underworld with her husband.  One month for every seed.  For the rest of the year she was free to walk with her mother aboveground.

"And so, the seasons change as Demeter changes.  In spring and summer Demeter lovingly watches over Persephone, the flowers bloom and the trees bear fruit.  And in the fall and winter Persephone returns to the underworld and her husband.  Demeter mourns her loss and the world turns cold and desolate in her grief...That is the myth of Persephone."

They both sat in silence a moment.  But it wasn't the same tense silence they had been plunged into before.  Sara folded the napkin in her hands once, and then twice, taking care to keep the edges even.  It was a waste of energy, but it seemed as good an idea as any.

"You tell a good story, Nottingham," she said quietly.  "Ever thought of volunteering some time to read to children?"

He glanced at her, as if trying to gauge what exactly she meant by that statement.

She was serious.

For all of two seconds.

Then she actually paid attention to the image flitting through her mind.  That of a black-garbed Ian Nottingham, assassin-extraordinaire, lost and drowning in a sea of hyperactive preschoolers.  She didn't know what was more disturbing, the fact that she could actually see it, or the panicked, helpless expression on his face as the eager four year olds swarmed over him.

_My god, he always inspires some of the strangest visuals.  But she was smiling again.  It was too funny not to._

_TBC..._

Okay, there are several different versions of the myth of Persephone--this is just the one I like best.  Also, it's never just out-and-out said in the previous chapter, but Hades is Zeus' brother, making Persephone his niece.  Interesting parallel, huh?  I thought so.  ^_^


	8. Tell Me the Rules of Our Engagement

yay, we finally get to the main course! ^_^

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Eight:**

**Tell Me the Rules of Our Engagement**

_Tell me the rules of our engagement / Tell me you'll kill me at sunrise / I'll be your captive entertainment / I'll hold the fire in your eyes_

~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

¤ ¤ ¤

They were saved from more 'conversation' as their main course arrived.  Sara watched as Jerry carefully placed their dishes before them, keeping his head down.

"I don't remember ordering," she commented calmly, as if she had no interest in the answer.  And she was very interested in the answer.

"I took the liberty of ordering before you arrived, so you would not have to wait long for your food," Ian replied matter-of-factly.

Sara glanced at him sharply, then rolled her eyes.  _Oh, this should be good_.  She looked down at the plate that Jerry set before her and blinked.

_Very good_.

Fettuccine Alfredo with sliced mushrooms and grilled chicken kind of good.  Yum.  The chicken was that perfect golden brown, and the Alfredo sauce appeared to be at just the right thickness and spice.  Sara's eating habits were rather mundane, she liked what she liked and she rarely ordered something she wasn't sure about.  Every time she went to an Italian restaurant she ordered the same thing.  Her favourite.  It appeared that Ian Nottingham knew exactly what that was.

_Should bitch at him, but not goin' to.__  Do it later.  Yum._

She lifted her fork with single-minded determination.  He hadn't been lying when he said she hadn't eaten all day.  She was very hungry, more so now.  She had forgotten about it for a little while, but it all came rushing back as the first bite slid against her tongue.  She closed her eyes and almost sighed.

When she opened her eyes Nottingham was looking down at his own food appraisingly.  Jerry had scampered away again; he seemed to want as little contact with them as possible.  That fit her own wants so she wasn't about to complain.  She didn't know what Nottingham was eating, but it looked good.  Whole breaded chicken breast buried under peppers and mushrooms and some kind of white wine sauce.  Fresh garlic, too, she could see the diced cloves hidden among all the red and yellow peppers.

It looked good.  Had it been any of her friends she would have leaned over the table and swiped a small piece.  They would have probably made threats of stabbing her with their fork, laughing all the while.  Sara liked it simple, the same every time she came here.  But she always encouraged her companions to order differently, so she could try out different foods without the obligation of actually having to eat them.  It was part of the 'restaurant ritual' for her.  But she couldn't just sample some of his food.

Could she?

She stared hard at a very succulent slice of chicken completely saturated in white wine and garlic and her mouth watered.  She glanced up at Ian, who thankfully didn't just appear to be oblivious, then looked back down at his plate.

"I'll trade you," she said suddenly, licking her lips.  A second later she realized she had spoken aloud.

His eyes snapped to her, confused.  "Excuse me?"

She brandished her fork and pointed it at his o so delectable dish.  "You give me a little of that, and you can have some of mine.  Sound fair?"  _Please please please say yes_!

A smile came to his lips, it came so slow that she could actually see it filling his dark eyes with gold warmth.  "I don't like Alfredo sauce."

Her eyes widened.  He didn't like Alfredo?  What was wrong with him?!  She pouted.  That basically took care of everything she had to trade.  Damn it!  She wanted some of that chicken!  And maybe one of those peppers.  Really, was that too much to ask?

"I'll make a deal with you," he speared the chicken, and even the pepper she had been eyeballing, and swirled them both in a heavy dose of the white wine.  "This for a drink of that," he nodded his head at the daiquiri that was sitting off to the right of her hand.

She looked at her drink curiously.  "It has alcohol in it."

"I know, but only a little.  I should be okay, I think.  Besides, I like strawberries."

_Well well, the big, bad assassin likes strawberries.  That's interesting._

He somehow managed to fit a mushroom on the fork as well.  It was a very generous portion.  He lifted it and wove it back and forth, like a hypnotist with a pocket watch.  Her eyes followed it a moment before she blinked and realized he was playing with her.  Then she blinked again.

"Does _that sound fair?"_

It so did.  She appeared to consider his compromise, but was really thinking of all the odd events that had to line up correctly, and 'coincidently', to get her to this point.  Where she would willingly be eating from Nottingham's plate.

But damn!  Did that chicken look good!

She nodded.

He held his fork out to her again, a perfect imitation of what he had done before.  Up to the 'innocent' part, that is.  His eyes held curiosity and just an edge of heat, and what little innocence that was there wasn't anything that could be mistaken for ignorance.  _Dare you, if you like, is what he seemed to be saying._

Damn, she had volunteered this time.  She thought about reaching out and taking the fork from him, but that would require touching him, and she wasn't sure that would be much better.

He noted her hesitation, but didn't seem hurt or put-off by it.  In fact...he seemed to have abandoned his uncertainty and was issuing her a direct challenge.

_Okay, no big deal, already did it once.  Except, it was a big deal, because once could be called a fluke, but twice...Not to mention, they both were very much aware of the societal intimacy of the act._

What was she supposed to do, say 'no, you might have cooties'?  Besides, the atmosphere around them had started to become companionable, and that was oddly pleasant.  Why should she ruin it?  Why should she let her hang-ups about him ruin it?

She leaned forward, but couldn't maintain eye-contact.  Instead she stared at the table and delicately...missed her mouth.  Well, almost.  He had moved the fork at the last second so she wouldn't embarrass herself, but that didn't prevent a thick line of white wine from tracing over her chin.

She reached up in an automatic gesture to wipe it away, but he was already there, the soft pad of his thumb catching the drop and his fingertips resting in a trail of heat down her cheek and jaw.  The movement was so quick that she barely had time to react.  She stared at him wide-eyed as he drew his hand back.  She hadn't been expecting such a bold move on his part, but she couldn't really bitch about it because it was 'within the rules'.

However, bringing his thumb to his own mouth and licking the sauce away was breaking those 'rules'.  Or at least, it should have been.

Don't ever do anything like that again, but the words wouldn't come out of her mouth.  He looked up at her and she focused on her hands, and the napkin she was suddenly gripping between them.  She lifted it and wiped absently at her chin.

Don't ever do anything like that again, she still couldn't force the words out.  She had come to the conclusion that maybe it was safer not to say anything at all, and pretend like he hadn't just pressed the boundaries of where she was willing to go with him.

Whatever, put it behind you, she instructed.  She set her napkin down, then picked up her drink.  She started to take a sip, then remembered it was time to fulfill her part of the bargain.  She frowned at her straw, but pushed the entire glass out at him, in hopes that he would take the hint and take it from her.  But that idea was wiped away as he instead leaned forward and she was forced to hold the glass up as he drank from her straw.  Her straw.

Her cowardice made her stare him directly in the eyes, and she forced defiance to the surface of her glare.  He pulled back gracefully, but she noticed that he had taken a rather large drink.  In the back of her mind, behind all the little voices asking her what the hell was going on and why she didn't leave, or at least kick him under the table, there was one lone voice.  It was curious about the alcohol and how he would react to such a small dose of it.  Hopefully not too badly.

"Mmm," he said, "I love strawberries."

_Me too.__  Never gonna tell you that, though.  My god, I should just leave now.  But she calmly started on her food again, a perfect picture of serenity and ease._

She paused as a thought struck her.  _Well, that was useless.  She couldn't remember how his food had tasted!  She had been too shocked!  All that angst with nothing to show for it!_

Setting her teeth she observed him from beneath her mascara-thickened eyelashes, measuring something out in her mind.  She tossed out the idea of asking for a bite, and decided it was too risky to offer another trade.  Pursing her lips, but not so obviously, she finally settled on a path of action.

_Shouldn't play with dangerous men, but oh well.  "What the hell is that," she hissed, flinging her left hand out to an area somewhere behind him.  Her fork was ready in her right hand._

Ian instantly turned, his hand moving nonchalantly, though she knew he was probably going for a weapon of some sort.  She wasted no time, stabbed a piece of chicken on his plate and shoved it into her mouth as fast as she could.  She only had seconds to spare.

A confused look flitted over his face as he turned back, then looked down at his plate.  One of his eyebrows rose.

Sara was pushing her fork around her pasta innocently.  She looked up, still chewing, and smiled just as innocently.

A second eyebrow went up.

_Eh, shouldn't have smiled at him, now he definitely knows something is up.  Oh!  Yum!  I wonder if he'll fall for that trick again!_

Of course, Ian was looking down at his tea, trying very hard not to grin.  Sara had stolen food from him, thinking he couldn't hear her fork scratch against his plate as she did so.  It was too cute.  Father would have sneered and called such games at the dinner table bad manners.  But he was not his father, and he...found it endearing.  He wondered if she would try it again.

TBC...


	9. Trusting My Tongue To Buy My Life

Thanks to all those who have sent me their warm encouragement.  I hope this chapter is just as worthy! ^_^

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Nine:**

**Trusting My Tongue To Buy My Life**

_Every day a different story / Every night a new plotted knife / I have no time for tears or worry / Trusting my tongue to buy my life_

~ Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

¤ ¤ ¤

They were coming to the end of their meal, and Sara had realized the dilemma she was now in.  The. Bill.  That horrible moment that came at the end of nearly every date she had been on.  She had started fights before and prematurely ended relationships when it came to that little slip of paper.

Ian was virtually oblivious to the storm that was gathering around their small table.  He was mentally going over several moments where she had actually relaxed around him, and wasn't even aware of what was coming to plow him over.

_I'm not stupid; __Nottingham__ has this creepy, somewhat old-fashioned idea about ladies and gentleman, and proper behaviour.  At least where he is concerned.  He's going to insist on paying, and I know this time he won't relent..._

_I won't let him!  But she didn't feel like fighting either.  _If he won't give in and I won't give in, then where does that leave us_?_

_With a third choice_.

Her eyes suddenly twinkled with a mischievous light, and one end of her lipsticked-mouth curled up slightly.  Ian caught the look from across the table and had enough sense to shiver in apprehension.

"Are you done eating," she whispered, her head lowered so that her hair fell around her face and blocked curious eyes from seeing her mouth move.  She had the air around her of someone trying to be discreet.

He nodded, having no clue as to what was going on.  He didn't sense any danger nearby, but if she said there was then he would believe her.

She pushed her hair back behind her ears, then threw a look around them nonchalantly.  Ian followed the movement, but still couldn't see the danger her body language was hinting at.

She gasped so loudly that he jumped, his nerves already tingling with the possibility of violence.  She was waving her hand desperately above her head, calling out, "Jerry!?  Jerry!?  Where are you?!"

"Sara, what is it?!  What's wrong?!"

Jerry pushed his way to their table at a half-run, his eyes flicking from Ian to Sara, and back to Ian franticly.  "Madame?!"

"There is a hair in my food," she said loudly, pointing at her half-eaten pasta accusingly.

Jerry blinked, wringing his hands worriedly before him.  "Excuse me?" She was making such a big fuss over such a small thing?

Sara jumped to her feet and swayed slightly on her heels.  "Oh," she moaned for good measure, noticing all eyes on her, "I think I'm going to be sick!"  Jerry quickly got out of her way as she fled towards the nearest bathroom.  In fact, everybody got out of her way, looking a little green themselves.

Jerry eeped silently as the big scary man at the table stood up.  But Ian simply brushed past him as if he were nothing but a piece of furniture that had somehow found its way into his path.

¤ ¤ ¤

Sara leaned on her hands against the edge of the counter, grinning at herself craftily in the long bathroom mirror.  It stretched the entire opposite wall of the stalls, reflecting them back at her and giving the room a depth that it didn't really possess at all.  The sink before her was modestly nice, white and gold, but it matched the one beside it, and the one beside that one.  It seemed kind of silly when put in that context.

The door opened and Sara quickly dropped her head so her hair fell forward, the movement being quicker than actually trying to wipe the amusement off her face.  No doubt they had sent someone to check up on her.

"Sara, is there anything I can do?" Ian asked in concern.

"Ya know, Nottingham, we gotta stop meeting like this."  With a small smile she turned on the tap and began running cold water over her hands.  Off to her side Ian blushed, recalling the last time he had seen a public bathroom.  It was a good thing the stalls had been open at the bottom, or there was no telling what they would have done.  He remembered the women staring at him with wide eyes when he walked in with Sara.  Of course, some of them had grinned and winked at him.  That had been creepy.

Sara splashed cool water on her cheeks, getting stray wisps of her long dark hair wet.  She jerked a paper towel free from the dispenser and pressed it delicately to her face, mindful of the make-up.  She really really hated wearing it.

She turned and leaned against the counter.  Nottingham leaned against the stall across from her, folding his arms over his chest.  Amazingly, his white suit had made it through dinner without a single stain.  Must be magic, she thought.

She opened her mouth to say just as much when the bathroom door swung in.  A petite woman walked through, in a clingy black party dress and health-club tan.  Her pumps clacked noisily against the tiled floor, seeming to echo off the utterly unmemorable walls.  In her left hand she clutched a small matching purse.

Glancing at them, or more, Ian, she stopped.  She stared openly at Ian, and he stared back.  Sara did not catch the look on his face, but the blonde took one step back, and then another.  She turned and hurried out the door, nearly tripping on her two inch heels.

"Wow.  Do you think you could teach me that trick, Nottingham?"

"What trick is that, Sara?" he asked neutrally, unsure of her mood and if she had fallen back into the old habit of mocking him.

"The one where harmless women scurry merely from the sight of you.  Could be handy."

He gave her a small smile.  "I believe it is natural talent."

She grinned back, not even caring how strange it was supposed to feel.  "Are you ready to go back?"

"Are you feeling well?"

"I'm okay now."  She had decided in those three seconds that she had been alone that it was best not to let him in on her plan.  It might offend him, or some other thing she couldn't predict.  She was never really sure how he was going to react.

...Though she did feel a twinge of guilt at the very real concern in his voice.

But not enough to let him pay for dinner.

"Let's go," she said.  And they went.

¤ ¤ ¤

Getting back to their table, they noticed that Jerry was gone and an older, thicker man had taken his place.  Ole' Jerry had chickened out and called his manager in to deal with the 'scary couple'.  And the manager had a look on his face that said he was NOT going to be intimidated as easily as his colleague.

"What's the problem, ma'am?" he asked Sara coolly, ignoring Nottingham who had stepped back to let her deal with the situation.  It was her complaint after all.

Sara absolutely hated being called 'ma'am', it made her feel old.  But she pushed the irritation away and tried to convey illness in her face as she spoke to him.

"My meal was completely ruined.  I refuse to pay," she said without any sort of fanfare, causing both the manager and Ian to blink in surprise.

Ian felt a warm line of pride flow through him suddenly.  That was his Wielder, a true lady of strength and command.  But part of his training was to know when it was best to avoid conflict.  And it was definitely good to avoid conflict of this nature in such an open and populated setting.  It was this conclusion that had him automatically reaching within his jacket to retrieve his money, ready to play peace-maker.

Sara's hand was just suddenly gripping his, her green eyes narrow.  "Don't do it, Ian.  We are not going to pay this man for a meal we don't even get to finish."

After a moment Ian nodded, letting his hand drop and slide out of her grip.  He instantly missed that touch, which was absurd because he hadn't even really noticed it until it was gone.  He knew exactly what was going on now; once upon a time something similar had happened at a dinner party with his Father.  But he couldn't recall the detail of payment ever actually coming up.  And the host hadn't seemed nearly as hostile as the man standing before them.

They weren't going to pay, which made sense.  There food and service had made her ill, and so she shouldn't be expected to pay for such a thing.  In fact, they should all get down on their knees and beg her forgiveness.  How could they stand before her and not know how special she was?

Sara turned away from the very strange look in Nottingham's eyes, and once again addressed the manager.  He was a little heavy set, but in that way that made it difficult to tell if there was fat or muscle under his conservative clothes.  His neck was noticeably thick, and for some reason it made Sara think of a big disagreeable bear.  And _that made her feel a little more disagreeable herself._

"I am sorry, ma'am, but you just can't come in here and eat, and then decide not to pay."

She opened and closed her mouth as if she couldn't believe he had said such a thing to her.  Finally, she settled on an incredulous (and utterly manufactured) glare of haughty indignation.  "Did you see what I found in my food?"

"Yes, ma'am, I did."  And then his eyes narrowed on her.  "Are you sure it was there BEFORE you started eating?"

She gasped, the sound actually real.  She hadn't expected anyone to question her.  Wasn't the customer always right in these matters?!  "Are you calling me a liar?!"  She didn't like that, even though it was technically true at the moment.  It still pissed her off that he would insinuate such a thing.

But before she could move in to _set him aright_, the manager's fat head impacted on the table top, upsetting the dishes spread out there but miraculously missing all of them.  His eyes bugged out and his lips moved wordlessly in shock.  Ian stood over him, one hand pressed firmly against the middle of the man's back.  His other hand had produced a short-sword from somewhere and was steadily holding it against the nape of the manager's meaty neck.  It was clearly a warning, but a last one.

"Did you just call the lady a liar?" he asked calmly.

Sara stared at him open-mouthed, in awe.  But who could blame her?  In his white and gold, he was reminiscent of Saint George standing on the back of the dragon, pressing his spear deeply into the beast's throat.

She glanced down, lifted her pump and made a face.  Except it seemed that this dragon had just pissed his pants.  Ew.

The big man began to sob, going very still beneath the cold edge of the blade.

"Apologize."

"Sa-sorry!" that was all the manager seemed capable of choking out.

After the initial shock wore off, Sara's first thought was: where in the hell had he been hiding such a dangerous weapon?  Her second thought was: has to be a spine-sheath, but how the hell did he get it out so quick without hacking off whole chunks of hair?

Her third thought was the one that actually got her up and moving.  _Oh shit, the cops_!

Oh shit the cops indeed.  Cel phones were suddenly materializing in people's hands.  A few even had those newfangled built-in digital cameras, and were sending pictures to their friends.

"Oh shit!  Nottingham, the cops!" She launched forward, grabbing him and lifting his wrist, and consequently, the blade away from the manager's neck.  It was surprisingly easy since he didn't fight her for control.  She pulled him along by the wrist, rounding tables and frozen customers.

_Damn.  She stopped, turned them around and marched back for her purse._

The manager, who had collapsed crying to the floor, squealed like a prepubescent girl when he saw them return.  He scrambled under the table and hugged the far corner.  He was really too big for it, and one end of the table tilted up, causing what was left of her daiquiri to slide off with an audible crash and shatter of glass.  Shaking her head, Sara snatched up her purse and switched her grip on Ian, taking hold of the wrist sans sword.

The woman across from them was still snapping pictures.

Her fingers tightening around Ian's wrist, Sara, detective-extraordinaire, fled the scene of 'the crime'.

**TBC...**


	10. Tales That Were Never Learned By Rote

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Ten:**

**Tales That Were Never Learned By Rote**

_I am so weary of this calling / Tales that were never learned by rote / Better this desperate exhaustion / Than a king's knife upon my throat_

~ Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

¤ ¤ ¤

They ran and ran. Then ran some more. Several blocks from the restaurant, Sara's heels refused to take anymore abuse. By that time, she didn't care. She fell against a wall, wheezing for breath but laughing at the same time. Ian was beside her, leaning on one shoulder. She suspected strongly that it had something to do with her---Maybe the fact that she was still keeping his wrist prisoner in the tight grip of her fingers?

He was breathing a little harshly himself, and his hair fell half-undone around his face, trailing darkness across his white-clad shoulders. The short-sword hung at his side. He had switched hands and turned so that most of his body, and even hers, hid it from view. Nearly. Her in striking red, and him in stunning white---they were a sight to see, and they were drawing curious eyes.

With her mind kicking back into gear, she saw one of those 'comfy' New York alleys and jerked him around the corner into it. They had to do something about the sword before someone else saw it and called the cops.

She started to turn him so she was in front, but he turned as well, making them move in almost a complete circle. He wanted the outside, his back open and vulnerable to attack. She hadn't been thinking about such things, but she figured he always did. Part of her reasoning had been that she didn't want to place him physically between her and the closest way out.

She realized like a flash that she had moved just as he had, automatically. Though their motivations were vastly different. His had been an answer to the possibility of violence, and hers had been to keep a path of escape.

She didn't trust him, old news. But she also did. She trusted him to do whatever he felt he needed to do, but she didn't know where she fit in, in that equation. After all, the Black Dragons fiasco hadn't been that long ago. And at the time he had thought that getting rid of her permanently was what he needed to do. She believed he was sincere in his guilt, but the fact remained that she didn't---no, _couldn't_ trust him. But she let him keep his place, mainly because she didn't really feel like waltzing with him at the moment.

Besides, he didn't truly seem aware that they were at conflict.

_Probably 'cuz he's not. Aware, that is. I bet this sort of thing is pretty much standard procedure for him. Which means the conflict is really all mine_.

_Great.__ I've been staring at him for a full minute. And he's noticed_. She blinked, trying to shake free of her deeper thoughts. Nottingham was watching her curiously.

"Did you have a vision?"

His words took a few seconds to make sense. "Kind of," she whispered. What could she really say, 'no, I'm trying to figure you out'? Nuh-uh. Too many conversational paths would open with such a sentence. And she was not quite willing to go down any of them yet.

He frowned, but he didn't say why. And she didn't want to ask.

Some imperceptible movement pulled her eyes down, and she realized she was still holding onto his wrist, with the sword hanging point-down between them. She let it go.

_Ignore that and focus on the sword. We need to put it away_. "We need to put the sword away before someone notices." _Someone else, that is_.

He nodded, reached back and started to gather his hair to the side.

"I knew it," she said.

He paused, the slim blade lifted, point inward and the heel of his palm resting against the guard. "Knew what, Sara?"

"Spine-sheath," she nodded to the short-sword, or long-knife, both equally fit the beautiful piece he was balancing in his hand.

He nodded. The blade moved forward again.

"Is that dangerous," she asked softly.

He shook his head, "Not if you practice." A lock of his chocolate mane swung close to that wicked-looking edge, and her hand instantly shot out to rest on his shoulder, just above the collarbone. It achieved what she wanted; he froze in place, looking at her curiously.

"Please let me do it," she said flatly, "you're making me nervous."

He flashed a smile at that, but nodded, lowering the blade and handing it to her hilt first.

She took it from him, the handle very warm in her tight grip. He turned, giving her his back. It was one of those moments that struck her as significant, even when she knew it wasn't. Refusing to dwell, she pushed his collar down, fingers searching for the mouth of the sheath. She brushed his hair aside with her knuckles, but it swept right back into place, falling over the back of her hand.

"Hold your hair to the side please," she said.

He grasped the loose tail with its escaped tresses, and lifted it away from his neck. His fingers brushed hers, she noticed. She understood enough to know that she shouldn't be noticing things like that.

She carefully slid the blade into its sheath, then let the tips of her fingers rest against the very end of the hilt. She was thinking about how soft his hair had felt. A sweet-smelling cloud of dark silk, chased through with threads of gold. Her hand lifted, sinking into the tight waves. She spread her fingers, pulling all those curls free from their binding, smoothing his hair around his face. "I like it better like this," she whispered.

Ian turned around slowly, his hair sliding warmly from her hands. His eyes were a little wide, and she went very still before them, numb, but not in a dead way. She instantly knew the look he presented her, but never thought that she would ever see anything like it on his face. A certainty...a _maleness_.

He took a step forward.

She took a step back.

And that roused her out of her spell more than anything. She didn't back down from anybody! And yet she had just given ground to Ian Nottingham...

She couldn't retake the step, not without stepping into him. She turned left automatically, in hopes of going around him, but a white blur of motion stopped her. Her back hit the wall hard with the speed of her recoil. She flattened herself against it, her breath coming in harsh little pants that had nothing to do with her run. At least not from the restaurant.

Ian's hands pressed against the wall behind her, a palm on each side. He leaned into her, and she watched it happen, her eyes widening though she couldn't seem to move.

He didn't kiss her. His cheek slid the length of hers, his beard scratching softly across her skin. He pressed his nose into the soft tresses behind her ear, breathing in deeply and letting that same breath go as a shaky sigh.

She shuddered.

He nuzzled her face, almost like a wolf marking its mate, then he kissed lightly against the edge of her mouth. Not something begging invitation, but more like something reverent. On the spectrum of kisses, it was very small, but it carried enough force behind it to hit her like a battering ram.

The tiny shock of pleasure seemed to cut white-hot through her body, jolting her awake. Though had she truly been asleep she probably would not have felt the need to fight. She instantly slid down and under his arm, freeing herself from the trap he had created with his presence and baited with such an innocent kiss.

She had fallen prey before to kisses that sent her reeling, and others that pulled her down into sinking warmth. But this..._this_ wasn't the case at all. It had been a delicate line, a teetering on some sharp edge. It had knocked her off-balance, and scared her---scared her with the churning intensity of feeling barely concealed within its gentleness. It wasn't a simple thing, and it wasn't easy, and It. Scared. Her.

She hugged her arms tight across her stomach, the dislodged strap of her purse sliding forgotten down her shoulder. She didn't let herself get scared often, and when she did she usually chose to force it down and not recognize it for what it was. But this time she held herself still within the embrace of that fear, just long enough to remember why this wasn't going to happen.

"I apologize. I had no right," he whispered, his voice coming out even lower since he had dropped his head again to address her shoes. That gesture was really beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Look at me," she snapped. And then he was, and she had no idea what she was going to say. He looked like an eager puppy. And he looked _kicked_. By big black boots that had her name scored decoratively into the very sole.

God, could she really kick him again? When he already looked so stricken and apologetic? Was she that much of a heartless bitch?

"Just forget it," she finally said, dropping all her righteous anger for a tone more quiet. _I took the first liberty with him; he was only following my lead. But we are gonna have to have a little talk about all this, oh yes we are. There are boundaries, and he is gonna have to stop crossing them---or I really will turn and kick his ass. Wounded-puppy-routine be damned!_

The silence dragged between them like a blade from a sheath. With every possibility to scar, given any wrong movement, but she had no intention of moving wrong. She sighed and resituated the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

"I think it's about time we get out of this alley." She moved around him, heading purposefully for the open sidewalk beyond, not bothering to see if he'd follow.

The change in atmosphere was almost solid as she walked out from beneath the shadow of the buildings and into the blinding light of the streetlamps. She felt like she had just stepped out of the mouth of some potentially dangerous beast, right before its sharp teeth were about to close around her.

Catching a flash of white out of the corner of her eye, she wondered distantly if that wasn't exactly the case.

**TBC****...**


	11. Watching For Signs That I've Touched You...

**Part Two: Rules of Engagement**

**Chapter Eleven:**

**Watching For Signs That I've Touched Your Heart**

_Fearful and scared, I keep on telling / Watching for signs that I've touched your heart / Thousands of sentences all spelling / Whether my life is worth my art_

~ Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

¤ ¤ ¤

"We need a taxi, or it's going to be a long walk home.  Even longer for you," she said, staring down the street as if it made any difference.

With a shadow of a smile he stepped to the curb, held up a hand, and called, "Taxi."  He hadn't raised his voice.  For a moment she wondered what he would sound like shouting in rage or screaming in...A taxi came around the near corner, gliding to a stop right before them.  It just sat there.  And waited.

_Wow.  I mean...wow!_  She whistled low in appreciation.  _Maybe __Nottingham__'s not so bad, after all.  And maybe I really am losing my mind_.  She had seen him do things, things that the front of her brain told her should not even be possible.  This was one of those things.

He opened the door, stepping back and waving his hand gracefully forward in invitation.  She walked past him and climbed in, sliding across the seat.  She had a very conscious moment of déjà vu as he pulled the door shut.  Settling into the seat, he gave the driver directions, then turned somewhat to her, his fingers laced together over his left knee.  It was a very casual gesture of attention.

"Now, this?  This is definitely punishable by the law."  But she made sure to smile slightly while she said it, letting him know that she meant only the expedient arrival of their 'coach'.  She had taught him a wealth of caution where she was concerned, and sometimes it got in the way more than helped.  Or maybe someone else had taught him.  Either way, she had reinforced it enough to know caution herself.

"I guess that makes you my accomplice?"

She grinned, "Gladly."

Then his attention on her seemed to sharpen, and she quickly looked away.  She hadn't meant to flirt.  How come she did so much that she didn't mean to do around him?  She picked at the hem of her skirt with more concentration then the action called for.

"Sara, I'm sorry the night you had planned was ruined."

Everything seemed to quiet as they came to a stoplight.  The hum of the engine became more pronounced without the rush of the wheels to distract.  The driver was ignoring them, his eyes patiently waiting for the light to change.  They were just two more people in his car, after all.  The light turned green and they were off again, crawling behind so many other, nameless passengers in just as nameless cars.  It was at once a comforting feeling, and humbling.

"I wouldn't necessarily say that."

There was silence again, but this one was less audio and more atmospheric.  She felt his curiosity at that statement.  Would he ask?  Did he want to know enough to make her explain herself?  Either way, she would.  It was too dangerous a comment to leave lying as it was.

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't a complete failure.  I got something to eat, I had a little fun.  Sure, there were a lot of awkward moments, but when isn't there?  So, it wasn't bad," she ended in a whisper, then turned to him.  This was the truth, but there was more of it to get out.  "But don't take this as some sort of sign.  I don't want you doing anything like this ever again.  I mean it.  I don't regret tonight, but I could."  Now, time for some heavy eye contact.  "Don't make me regret tonight, Nottingham."

He lowered his head, like she knew he would.  "I will try not to give you any reason to feel regret, Sara."

"Good," she said, feeling better that they had come to an understanding.  He wouldn't do it again, and she would try to keep it in her memory as a generally pleasant evening.

"I have something to confess," he said.

She blinked; those were very strange and dangerous words coming from Ian Nottingham.  "If it's anything illegal, please don't tell me.  I don't really feel like battling my conscience right now."

He was warmed slightly by those words, that she would hesitate and not just happily drag him off to the nearest police station.

"Illegal, no.  Well...yes.  But harmless."  It wasn't actually that either, because it could prove harmful to him.  But he needed to come clean to her on this point, whatever the outcome.  "Really," he added at her narrowed look of suspicion.

"Go on."  The tone of her voice didn't seem too convinced with his sincerity.

"Your date truly _was_ called away---but I was the reason for that.  I didn't hurt him though," too greatly, he added silently to himself.  But alas, he just couldn't work up enough guilt to feel too badly about that particular detail.

She sighed, leaning into the seat.  Her head fell back and she stared at the ceiling of the car.  "I guessed as much," she said.  "That's one of the things you can't be doing anymore, Ian."

Hearing his first name on her lips always made him go still, but he was already as still as he was going to get.  She had known this and not ripped him to shreds about it?  That lifted a great burden of guilt off his shoulders, though there was always more to be had.

"I am truly sorry, Sara."

"Just don't do it again, and I'll believe you."

"Okay," he said softly, his voice reminiscent of a reprimanded child.  But he could have gotten worse; she could have taken the gun he knew was in her purse and shot him with it.  He might even have let her.

¤ ¤ ¤

What is it about cars?  What is it about sitting in a car at night that makes the experience so personal, so singular?  It was a dangerous closeness, she knew that.  A feeling that whatever happened within would stay there, and they were really a part of another reality, one that couldn't follow them back when they left.  It made her want to kiss him again, just because she could.  Because she knew he wouldn't object.  Because she knew he was sitting there feeling that same wordless intimacy.  The driver didn't protest the fact that they were both just sitting there, listening to the loudness of the silence around them.  She supposed he saw this often, an end to something, a reluctance to say goodbye.  Or maybe he, like her, understood the silky grip of such spells.

She knew she should get out and go home, but she just sat there, fiddling with the edge of her skirt.  Ian looked out the window beside him, but not in a way of tension.  She wondered if he was sorry that it was all over now.  Never to be repeated.  He had promised her as much, but she almost felt apologetic that she had forced those words upon him.

"Walk me up?" she whispered.

He turned his head slowly, but nodded.  If he took the sentence to mean more than it did, he didn't show it.  He helped her out and sent the driver on his way.  His face remained that calm, pleasant mask, and she wondered if it stretched all the way in.

"How are you doing," she asked as they stood quietly out in front of her building.  It was one of those times her mouth seemed to have a will of its own.  And really, she didn't care.  She genuinely wanted to know.

He smiled very small, glancing down at the ground, then back up.  "Happy that I've made it through the night alive, but a little depressed, too.  What about you?"

"What about me what?"

"How are you feeling?"

She noticed the change in wording, but wasn't sure why.  "Ask me tomorrow, after the police get through with me.  They kind of frown on threatening people with swords."

"They won't bother you, Sara.  I'll make sure of it."

"Nottingham," she said in warning.

"Sara," he answered in the same tone, though lighter.

"Don't do anything illegal."

"Never," he said with that exaggerated sincerity.

"Yeah, right," she said, but was smiling anyway.

That made him smile.

"Let's go," she turned and walked across the sidewalk, stepping from the shadows directly into the bright circle of light falling from the streetlamp.  He didn't move, stared at her ankles, her calves, the back of her knees, his eyes climbing ever higher as the crimson of her dress seemed to glow against her skin.

"Quit 'watching my back' and get a move on it, Nottingham," she threw over her shoulder without looking back at him.

He shook his head slightly, coming to a final conclusion.  She had definitely put more sway to her walk then even her heels allowed for.  He wondered if she was aware.

The answer came quick as she stopped on the edge of the light, smoothing a hand down to rest on her hip.  The Witchblade glinted on her wrist, and he was mildly surprised to realize he hadn't noticed it until that very moment.  And it was a very short-lived moment.

"Coming?"

Definitely aware, he thought, hurrying to her side.

The walk up was silent; he didn't dare believe that this meant anything like he wanted it to.  He did not expect her to invite him in under the pretense of coffee or anything else so pleasant.  When she stopped before her door, he stopped too, waiting.  There were so many possibilities that it wasn't safe for him to speak yet.

"Well, here's my stop."

He nodded, unhelpfully.

"Please note my talent for stating the obvious."

That earned her a small, uncertain smile.  It was almost as if he wasn't quite sure the action was welcome.

_God, what do you say at times like this?  Miss Manners never covered non-dates with emotionally disturbed stalkers!  He does have pretty eyes though_.

She decided to say nothing.  She leaned upward onto the pointed toes of her heels and turned his face aside with one strong finger on his chin.  She then placed a small kiss on his cheek, chaste and pleasant and far too short.

It lacked much in the ways of passion, but in one second it became everything he ever wanted from her and thought for certain that he couldn't have.  Something well-versed and willing.

Of course, that didn't stop him from turning his head just that fraction and pressing his lips into hers.  He didn't mean to, honest.  It was just the scent of her hair, the feel of her so close...He wasn't aware of what he was doing until it was too late to stop.  Her lips were soft, yielding with shock, and tasting faintly of strawberries and alcohol.

The surprise knocked her off the delicate balance she had on her heels, and left her hanging onto him for support.  At least, that's how she chose to explain why her hands were suddenly knotted in the fabric of his collar, dragging him closer.

It, however, didn't explain why she was kissing him back.

Sara abruptly let go, taking two very important steps back away from him.  It wasn't as if she was doing this on purpose.  It was like...it was happening when she wasn't paying attention.  I_t's like a car wreck---when you take your eyes off the road for only two seconds, but those two seconds are enough._  That was a confusing thought all on its own.

_Gotta get out of here_.  She was aware of her voice saying, "Goodnight, Nottingham."  And was happy that it sounded so cool and collected.  All that was left was the actual leaving.

With her head down, she twisted the knob and stepped into her door.  Literally.  She stood there a moment, leaning against the wood, taking deep, deep breaths.  Finally, she very slowly retrieved her keys from her purse and turned the lock.  She didn't look at him as she did so.  It was enough that she was embarrassed; she didn't have to see him to drive the fact home.

_Off-balance my ass, we are now officially moving into dizzy territory_.

She closed the door behind her softly, not bothering with the lights.  She walked absently across her apartment and flopped onto the couch, her knees hooked over the armrest.

Her little dress definitely wasn't made for such an odd incline, the thin red cloth started discreetly inching up her thighs in a way that could be called indecent, if given a few more minutes.  One of her pumps had already fallen with a thump to the floor, while the other precariously held on by her toes alone.  She didn't care; she stared at the shadowed ceiling with her purse clutched loosely to her breast.

_I think I've got it.  He's an irresistible force and I'm an immovable object.  And that's why there can't ever be anything_.

_But he is irresistible_, whispered that little voice buried so far back in her head.  The one that she just wanted to find and strangle.

_I'm immovable_, she snapped back, _didn't you catch that part of the phrase?_

_But you could...move_, it offered hesitantly.

_Hello?  Immovable means NO MOVING!_

_Too late.___

_Wha__...?_

_You might have convinced him you weren't interested, but that kiss in the hall?  That's moving, hon._

"Oh," she groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes in pseudo-despair.

With the sudden movement, her skirt just fell in one swift red wave of cloth to her waist.  She shot up, catching it and holding it modestly in place.  Her eyes swung around the dark room to make sure she was indeed alone.  That's what he did to her.  She wasn't sure what, but he sure did it.

Internal confusion aside, it was time to get up and strip away the garnish, unmake the monster she had made.  If she were lucky, she reasoned, she might even get some sleep tonight.  Without any dreams.

Walking slowly home, so that he could feel and remember every step, Ian Nottingham was thinking the exact opposite.  Though he didn't know how in the world he was supposed to get any sleep now.

¤ ¤ ¤

_Sing you to sleep like Scheherezade / Wake your curiosity / Trap you with tales like Scheherezade / You'll never want to leave me_

~Like Scheherezade by: Gwen Knighton

**.End of Part Two.******

I'm not sure when I'll be getting the third part out, but I do plan on it being the final part.  I've already started it, but have paused in favour of trying to clean up some of my older stories.  I think I've neglected a few of them for far too long...

_Coming Soon_:

So Happy Together

Part Three:

You'll Accompany Me

The crazy Sara/Ian hijinks continue, with a few familiar faces tossed in.  Ian will get a clue, Jake will get a little break, and Lazar will sweep the floor.  Poor Sara will finally begin dragging herself out of the angsty depths of De'Nile.  The obligatory Sara-dream will make an appearance, and be just as obscure as ever.  Is it evil of me to make all these vague hints?  Probably. ;-D

I will say this though---positive feedback is great inspiration.  That's a _hint_, incidentally. ^_~

Special Thanks go to all the wonderful people who have reviewed this part and the previous one.  Thank You so much! ^_^

~ Loki


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